Flash Fiction Friday *My Favorite Pillow*



My Favorite Pillow

By Briana McClendon

The anger that rolls through my head sometimes blocks out all other noise, so all I can focus on is how mad I am. Have you ever just wanted to stab something so badly that you can’t think of anything else? This is the case in my marriage. My husband just doesn’t understand my needs anymore. I NEED him to do what I ask the first time. I NEED him to stop watching the football game long enough to spend time with me. I NEED him to stop seeing other women. Which is what brought on this sudden case of the stabbies. We are going to be late for counseling. My husband called to tell me he would be late because he was going out with “friends” after work. Funny how he always smells like a French whore when he is finished hanging out with “friends”.

According to my counselor when I feel the need to stab something, I should stab a pillow or piece of foam.“It’s best to let it out,” she says. I grabbed my favorite pillow from the bed, and the knife from the drawer in the bed side stand. Going into the bathroom I stabbed the pillow I had gotten for these occasions. I stayed in the bathroom to watch myself. I stabbed it and stabbed it till my arm hurt, and then I threw the knife as hard as I could at the wall. It missed. Oh well,I’ll find it later. I finished getting dressed. I wasn’t going to be late for our counseling session. The bastard could be late and drive there on his own; I still didn’t know where he was. Exiting the bathroom, I found my knife. It was sticking out of my husband’s lifeless body. It doesn’t look like he’s going to make it to counseling tonight after all.

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Curse of the Were… by D.A. D’Amico



Curse of the Were…

By D. A. D’Amico

Oh, I was so close…

I’d just learned the whereabouts of the foul-mouthed Gypsy, the brother of the stuttering Turk who’d cursed me, when the moon rose to sit bloated atop the edge of a nearby skyscraper, its bright jaundiced light filling the street.

I reached the doorway just in time, leaving a boot behind on the rough cobblestones as my feet changed shape. Hair sprouted wildly. My face widened and my jaw snapped forward; fingers, once thin and gracile, expanded to become fat calloused sausages with long claw-like nails. A howl of pain escaped my burning throat. I vomited evil-smelling bile down the front of my swelling chest, collapsing in a heap of obscenely quivering flesh. Continue reading

Why Your Book Review Matters



When was the last time you bought something from Amazon without glancing at the product rating or skimming the reviews?  Do you recall the number of hours you spent getting through that last novel you read? If you’re going to be spending a lot of time with that book, you might want some reassurance that it’s worth the hours you’ll spend reading it. You’re not alone, more than 85% of readers base their decision to purchase a book on the reviews it has. Your review is important because it could directly affect the very next customer who considers buying that book. Continue reading

Flash Fiction Friday *Breathtaking*



by Mike Carey

93eaf9b67ac9a96a0d79165b8d588d0bKaty was cursed.

When she was little, her grandmother had told her that she was going to be ‘breathtaking’.  At the time she didn’t know what that meant, but by the time she was sixteen, her grandmother’s prediction had come true.  Extremely so.

Every man she crossed paths with found her to be, as her grandmother said, ‘breathtaking’.

Katy didn’t like it.  She didn’t try to be that way.  It was natural and there was nothing she could do about it.

She tried to stay inside as much as possible and not draw attention to herself, but she had to go outside sometimes.   Even on her worst days, men everywhere found her breathtaking.

Katy never stayed in one place very long.  She was adept at making herself disappear.

Each time she moved on, a local police force was left befuddled, hopelessly confused by the discovery of several asphyxiated men.


You can find Mike Carey’s other work at Salem Uncommons.

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